


the weight of water (the way you told me to look past everything i had ever learned)

by simplyollie



Series: Make This Go on Forever [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: A little, Angst, Damian’s adorable, Dick is trying, Fluff, Gen, Hurt No Comfort, Jason’s still pissed, Nightmares, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 01:31:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21153368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simplyollie/pseuds/simplyollie
Summary: “What are you doing?”Dick shrugged, “making spaghetti.”“At four in the fucking morning?” Jason deadpanned.“Yeah,” he responded through a yawn. “Wha’s wrong with that?”Jason scoffed, getting to his feet and pushing Dick away from the counter. “What’s wrong is that you’ll burn the damn house down, Dickhead.”or, Dick’s still struggling with the trauma of what happened with the Crime Syndicate and Jason isn’t quite ready to forgive him yet.





	the weight of water (the way you told me to look past everything i had ever learned)

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first fanfic for this fandom and I really hope that it’s good and I know what I’m doing and that I characterised Jason correctly because I had a bit of a hard time with him. Also, this was heavily inspired by the song ‘Make This Go on Forever’ by Snow Patrol and by “inspired” I mean I listened to it the entire time I wrote it—so check it out if you want to, if not that’s fine too! 
> 
> Anyway, more notes at the end!

Dick woke with a strangled gasp. He woke with heaving breaths and flailing limbs and the feeling that he couldn’t breathe. His hand immediately went to his throat as he stumbled out of bed, clawing at it frantically as he tried to draw in a deep breath.

But he couldn’t—

_ ( There was a phantom pill stuck in his throat, a phantom hand pressed tightly over his mouth and nose, blocking his airway and making him writhe and squirm and— _

_ Where was Bruce? Bruce was supposed to be there, he was supposed to be fighting for him, supposed to be fighting Luther to remove his hand, to help Dick _ breathe _ again— ) _

—breathe. Why couldn’t he breathe?

With trembling hands and shaking feet, Dick made his way into his bathroom, managing to switch the light on before he was sliding down to the floor, tucking his head between his knees as he tried to ward away the memories, tried to take in a deep breath, tried to feel _ normal _again.

After several minutes of sitting on his bathroom floor—several minutes of hyperventilating and digging his nails into his legs—Dick had finally calmed down enough to fully assess his surroundings.

This bathroom was much more fancy than the bathroom back in his apartment, which meant he was at the manor—which meant if he snuck downstairs to the kitchen there’d actually be decent coffee and food. Running a hand through his hair—he refused to acknowledge that it was still slightly trembling—Dick slowly got to his feet, splashing ice cold water on his face before making his way back to his room. The digital clock beside his bed read 3:54am—perfect time to sneak downstairs, grab some coffee and food, and then start on his morning workout. ( It was too late in the morning for him to go back to bed and get a decent amount of sleep—besides, it wouldn’t be the first time one of them had been working out at 4 in the morning ). 

Hoping he hadn’t managed to wake Damian, Dick tiptoed out into the hall and managed to make his way downstairs without alerting anybody he was awake—or if he had, they simply didn’t care. That was to be expected, especially after everything that had happened, the only person that still acted normally around him was Damian. ( Okay, so he was a little clingier than before, but it’s not like Dick minded ).

What Dick hadn’t been expecting, however, was to find somebody else in the kitchen, let alone _ Jason _of all people. Dick hadn’t even known he’d been staying at the manor, but then again it’s not as if Dick ever really saw much of Jason anyway—Jason had made it a point to avoid Dick as much as possible ever since he had found out that he’d faked his death. 

_ ( _ <strike> _ Died, he had died. It didn’t matter that it had only been for a minute, he had still died. _ </strike> _ But he couldn’t tell them that, because that would be like making excuses for the stupid decision that had hurt his family. _

_ Besides, each of his brother’s had _ actually _ died, for long periods of time. They’d been through so much more than him—<strike>so what if he still got heart wrenching nightmares and night terrors, if he still got claustrophobic every now and then, the feeling of being strapped to that bomb the only thing on his mind—it didn’t matter.</strike> _

_ Because his brothers were more important. His trauma didn’t matter when they’d been through so much worse ). _

Dick paused in the doorway, staring at his brother slumped over at the kitchen island. His hair was a tangled mess, indicating he’d either just gotten up or had been running his hands through it excessively, and his hands were wrapped tightly around a mug of coffee, maybe? Well, it was _ something _ . Clearing his throat awkwardly, Dick ventured lethargically towards the coffee machine, finding it still warm ( so it _ was _coffee ), and began to fumble with the mugs, his hands still slightly unsteady from earlier. When he turned back around, pushing himself up onto the kitchen counter, Jason was staring at him almost suspiciously, like he was expecting Dick to suddenly start screaming at the top of his lungs—Jason had been looking at him like that a lot recently.

_ ( “Jay, I’m _ sorry _ , I—” _

_ “No, stop—just, stop,” Jason’s voice was ice cold, and Dick couldn’t help but take a few steps back. “I don’t even know who you are anymore, Dick.” ) _

“Couldn’t sleep?” Dick mused carefully, smiling brightly—too brightly to not be fake.

Jason simply rolled his eyes, turning away from him and lifting his mug towards his lips. He held the mug in a knuckle tight grip, and his eyes were puffy and tinged red, indicating he’d been crying. Dick had known Jason long enough to understand it had been a nightmare, and in the past he would’ve jumped at the chance to comfort him, but now Dick didn’t know what was overstepping his boundaries anymore.

Trying a different approach, Dick pushed himself off of the counter, mug in hand, and sat down across from Jason. He kicked his legs idly, something he’d been doing since he was a child, and tried to catch Jason’s eyes. 

“Everything alright, Jay?” 

Jason let out a small huff—whether it was of anger or indifference, Dick didn’t know. “Everything’s just _ peachy _, Boy Blunder.” 

_( _ _ Nicknames—that was good. Despite the fact that Jason spat it like it was poisonous, it still counted. It meant they were getting there—wherever _ there _ was ). _

Dick’s lips twitched slightly. “Anything you wanna talk about?” 

Jason clenched his jaw, placing his mug back on the counter a little too hard to be natural. “Not with _ you _there isn’t.”

“Understandable,” Dick muttered, taking a small sip of his coffee and trying to push down the hurt at Jason’s comment.

_ ( Well what did you expect? That they’d welcome you back with open arms? They don’t need you— _

_ —but _ you _ need _ them_ )._

Letting out what sounded like an angry growl, Jason mumbled a cold, “what do you want, Dick?” 

_ ( For you to stop hating me, for you to understand that I didn’t want to hurt you, that I thought about you _ every. Single. Day _ that I was gone. For you to just _ talk _ to me—please—I felt like I was drowning every damn day and the only thing that kept me going was knowing that you and Tim and Damian were alive and alright— _

_ so, please, Jay, can you just _ talk _ to me normally, like you used to before everything ). _

“Well, I _ wanted _coffee,” Dick said smirking. “I didn’t know it came with a side of a grumpy and sleep deprived Jason Todd.” 

Jason rolled his eyes, but he didn’t snap at Dick or leave which was the closest he was getting to a ‘fine, I’ll deal with you and be civil with you for now.’ 

Dick’s smile only grew. “Y’know, I missed this, Jay.” 

Jason’s eyes immediately hardened, his hands clenched into fists atop the counter. “Yeah, well you should’ve thought about that before you lied to us about your fucking death.” 

And, wow, okay, Jason was in one of _ those _ moods. Dick tried not to take it personally, tried not to flinch or let anything on his face show—but he must’ve done _ something, _because Jason’s hard looked turned into an icy and devilish grin. 

“You know, you think you’re hot shit—_ Dick Grayson _, first son of Bruce Wayne, first Robin—the Golden Boy—Boy Wonder and all that jazz,” Jason paused, and Dick tried not to shrink away from the icy glint in his eye. “But you’re just a fucking coward underneath it all—a fucked up and lying coward.” 

_ ( He’s right—you know he’s right. You’re fucked up and you’re a coward and you got yourself kidnapped. It’s your fault the Syndicate captured you, your fault your identity was revealed, your fault you died, and your fault that you hurt your brother’s while trying to protect them ). _

Dick hung his head low, trying to ignore the stinging in the corners of his eyes, and trying to push down the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, voice breaking slightly.

It was silent for a while, and then there was the creak of Jason’s chair as he leaned back, though Dick refused to look up at him. “Yeah, whatever,” Jason sighed, all the fight seemingly gone from him. “It fucking happened, might as well get over it, just like the good ol’ Bat says.” 

Dick’s snapped to attention at that, finding Jason staring blankly at the ceiling. “Jay, you don’t—”

“Stop, Dick,” Jason said lowly. “Just stop.”

Fighting the urge to apologise _ again _, Dick simply studied Jason before him—the tension in his shoulders, the perfectly blank face, the way his arms were wrapped around himself almost protectively, as if he needed some form of contact and comfort but didn’t know how to ask for it.

_ ( Didn’t want to ask _ him _ for it. Because who would? After everything he did ). _

Dick stared down at the counter top, carefully drumming his fingers on the surface as he debated what to do next. Jason hadn’t stormed off yet, which meant he was on the path to _ possibly _forgiving Dick, but he knew him well enough to understand that one wrong move would only send the pair of them backwards yet again. Dick let out a small puff of air, his eyes roaming the kitchen lazily before settling on the small recipe book Alfred kept out. ( In case any of them needed a midnight snack, Alfred didn’t need it, of course ).

Biting his lip, Dick pushed away from the counter and made his way over towards the book, flipping it open to a simple spaghetti recipe, and started on grabbing the ingredients and tools he’d need. He could feel Jason’s gaze on him throughout the entire ordeal, but kept his attention on what he was doing—looking at Jason would make him say or do something rash and stupid, and neither of them needed that at the moment.

He was just starting to boil the water when Jason finally spoke up. 

“What are you doing?” 

Dick shrugged, “making spaghetti.” 

“At four in the fucking morning?” Jason deadpanned. 

“Yeah,” he responded through a yawn. “Wha’s wrong with that?” 

Jason scoffed, getting to his feet and pushing Dick away from the kitchen counter. “What’s wrong is you’ll burn the damn house down, Dickhead.”

Dick stumbled back a few feet, watching Jason silently for a moment before making his way back to his own seat. Jason seemed content to continue what Dick had started, and he had no qualms about it, simply sat there and watched with a small smile on his face as Jason hummed quietly to himself.

“Grayson, Todd, what is going on?” 

They were interrupted just as Jason was dishing out a couple servings, and Dick turned to find a tired and disheveled Damian standing in the doorway. He glanced between the pair with an almost lethargic scowl, and Dick couldn’t help but crack a grin at his little brother. 

“Makin’ spaghetti, Little D,” he said cheerfully, pushing his chair back and holding out an arm. “Wanna join?” 

Damian grumbled something under his breath that sounded almost like ‘imbeciles,’ before scurrying towards Dick and climbing into his brother’s lap. Dick wrapped his arms protectively around his body, his smile softening when Damian curled himself tightly around him.

A bowl of spaghetti was pushed across the counter towards him, and Dick offered Jason a small, “thanks,” beginning to eat it carefully so as not to wake Damian again, who had already fallen asleep in Dick’s lap.

Mumbling something in his sleep, Damian adjusted himself in Dick’s lap, his hair tickling Dick’s neck the entire time. Catching Jason’s eyes across the counter, Dick offered the younger boy a hesitant smile, and couldn’t help the swell of hope in his chest when Jason offered one back.

They weren’t okay yet—far from it—but they were getting there, and maybe that was all Dick needed at the moment. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thinking of turning this into a series of one shots about Jason and Dick interacting after nightmares and maybe healing after everyone that happened with Spyral and Syndicate.
> 
> Anyways, let me know what you think and whether or not I should continue!! :)


End file.
